Ultimatum
by Dr Dack
Summary: Watson gives Holmes some incentive to give up the needle. Holmes/Watson SLASH!
1. The Challenge

**Well, here it is! My first real attempt at slash . I know it's not perfect and so I welcome any and all constructive criticism. Read and enjoy!**

…

It was a particularly dreary October day on Baker Street, the monotony of the rain broken only by the occasional shuffle of newspaper and the pages of my yellow-backed novels. I glanced over at Holmes, seated in his preferred chair, his aquiline nose buried deep in the daily paper. I noticed his rolled sleeve and the fresh puncture marks adorning the soft white skin of his forearm. I'd become more and more concerned for my friend's health as of late. He'd been skipping meals, a classic sign that he'd returned to his favourite vice. I couldn't really blame him, as autumn tended to be a slow time for cases. Still, it both pained and angered me to see dear Holmes destroy himself in such a way. The only thing I hated more, in fact, was to dwell on the subject. Still, I found myself continuing to stare across the room at my friend's lithe frame, graceful, it seemed, no matter what he happened to be doing. Holmes noticed my staring, it seemed, a moment later.

"Is there something troubling you, Watson?" He asked, absently. I vigorously shook my head,

"Nothing in particular." I replied, trying to make it seem as though I'd simply let my mind wander. My eyes returned to the pages of my novel, though I couldn't bring myself to read it. I have always found Holmes's sense of constant composure maddening, particularly in those moments, such as the one I found myself in on that dark October afternoon, when my own mind races.

"Watson," Holmes said, abruptly folding his paper and placing it beside his armchair, "I've known you to be many things, but I never took you for a liar." I was shocked, opening my mouth to protest before fully understanding the meaning of the great detective's words. I sighed, smiling briefly.

"Once again your deductive prowess astounds me." I said, hoping my jokes and praise would allow me to dodge the question. No such luck.

"Tell me then, my dear, what stirs your restless mind?" Despite the sarcasm he draped over his words, I could sense that Holmes did genuinely wonder as to my state of mind. I briefly contemplated lying, but soon realized that it would do me no good.

"In all honesty," I said, "I wish you would find some better way to occupy your mind between cases." Holmes's eyes glinted with indignation. It had always been a rather sensitive subject for him.

"Oh?" He said, coldly, "And why, may I ask, is it any business of yours how I spend my leisure time?" I pressed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, now regretting my decision to open my mouth.

"I'm sorry, Holmes." Said I, "I cannot force you to change your ways." Holmes gave me a stern look, as though confirming that what I had said was an incontrovertible fact, "Even," I added under my breath, "If those ways are foolish and senseless." Holmes's ears pricked,

"Damn it, Watson!" He said, clearly trying to keep in control of the volume of his voice, "I will hear no more about this!" I felt my face flush with anger,

"And why not?" I retorted, getting to my feet, "Am I not your doctor and, more importantly, your friend? I suppose it does follow that no one should be allowed to pass judgment on the great Sherlock Holmes, eh?" With that I left the sitting room and retired to my bedroom. I shut the door and smiled despite myself. Some part of me enjoyed standing up to Holmes, even when the resulting confrontations led to unpleasant exchanges and angry words between us. I'm sure Holmes knew this as he never bore a grudge against me despite the ever increasing frequency of my outbursts against his behaviour. I knew I would have to apologize later for my unmannerly conduct, but for now I was in the right and my pride could not be punctured.

…

I returned to Baker Street after dining out down the road to find Holmes in a dark state. He was lying on the settee with his back to the world and his face buried in a cushion. I sighed and picked up one thin wrist, checking his pulse half-jokingly.

"Leave me alone, Watson." He said, sullenly. I refused, taking a seat on the upholstered arm closest to my friend's head.

"I'm sorry for my behaviour earlier. I had no right to say such things." I said, hoping I could retrieve him from his dismal mood. Holmes turned his head, revealing one light grey eye beneath a curtain of ebony tresses.

"It is I who ought to apologize." He said, turning over onto his back, "I realize that you only had my best interests in mind." I nodded, adding a smug inward smile, "However," Holmes added, giving me a look that I could only describe as flirtatious, "What other diversions might you suggest?" My cheeks flushed and I withdrew from my position on the arm of the sofa.

"Perhaps you ought to spend more time out of doors." I stammered, "Or take up a hobby. I've heard that sculpture is a fulfilling pastime." I tumbled backward into my bedroom for the second time that day, needing desperately to be alone with my thoughts.

I think that moment was a realization of pre-existing feelings rather than their origin. I'd known many an invert in my military days and had never been able to judge them as harshly as the bulk of society did, but never had I thought I would have to count myself among them. I suppose I simply hadn't been open to the idea of my relationship with Holmes being anything more than purely platonic. Now, however, I was beginning to see him in a whole new light, one that revealed the devious corners of my own mind as well. I peered through the crack where I had left the door ajar and saw Holmes, now fully upright on the sofa, looking positively desolate. I watched as he left the room, returning with a tourniquet in hand and a heavy pocket.

"Holmes," I said, re-entering the sitting room, "I didn't think you of all people would give in to temptation so quickly." Holmes looked at me and smiled wryly.

"I've given it some thought and I don't think I'm quite suited to sculpture."

"I must say I agree." I said, taking a seat next to him, "Luckily, I've a few other suggestions you might find more agreeable." I could see that Holmes was beginning to understand what I was getting at and before he had a chance to protest I had sealed his mouth with my own. To my surprise, Holmes was not offended at my advances, instead opening his lips and placing thin, alabaster hands on either side of my face, deepening the kiss and letting out a soft moan. Finally I pulled away and smiled, brushing a lock of raven hair from my friend's face. There was a tense moment between us before Holmes spoke.

"I think you may be onto something, Watson…" He said, leaning forward and catching my lips in another kiss. I could feel my face heating as Holmes's hands made their way from my cheeks to my chest, undoing the buttons on my shirt as I led him by his collar toward my bedroom. We crashed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and cloth. Somehow, Holmes found his way on top of me and I found myself squirming beneath the gaze of those piercing grey eyes.

"Don't move." he said. I furrowed my brow,

"What is it?" I asked. Holmes smiled, a most wondrous and intriguing sight.

"You're beautiful, Watson." He said. "I thought you ought to know." I bit my lower lip to keep from laughing and failed, letting out a rather high-pitched cackle and seeming to offend my dear friend. Holmes's great intellect and cool, detached nature often made me forget of our difference in age and experience. Seeing this small speck of naïveté break the surface was humourous only in how uncharacteristic it seemed. Holmes sat down beside me on the edge of the bed, looking decidedly put out.

"I must say, Watson, I'd always assumed you were capable of being somewhat more romantic in a situation like this. What with your reputation being what it is." I sighed and turned on my elbow,

"I'm sorry, Holmes," said I, "I didn't mean to offend. I was merely overcome by…passion." Now it was Holmes who laughed.

"You're an awful liar." He said, leaning over and brushing his lips against mine. "I adore that about you."

…

Holmes was still in bed after I returned from my bath. He lay on his stomach, his chin resting on one hand, the other draped languidly over the side of the bed. He smiled at me as I entered the room, hastily doing up my cravat and straightening my vest.

"You're off by two buttons." Holmes remarked, gesturing toward my shirt. I kissed his cheek and did nothing to rectify my disheveled appearance. "I do hope we can add this to my list of habits." Holmes continued. I flashed him a playful smirk,

"I had hoped we could shorten that list by one." I said. Holmes rolled his eyes,

"A lecture, Watson? I'd have thought you were finished ruining my good moods for the evening."

"Not a lecture, more of an ultimatum." I said.

"How so?" He asked. I elaborated,

"I'm forcing you to remove one habit from your list. Now, I may be wrong, but I think you'll have an easier time quitting the needle than you will quitting me." Holmes sat up, obviously perturbed,

"We shall see, my dear Watson." He issued the challenge and I happily accepted,

"Indeed we shall." I agreed, slipping out of the room.


	2. A Lapse in Judgement

**Thanks a ton to everyone who reviewed! Your feedback means a lot to me and I'll try to take your suggestions to heart. Now, without further ado, allow me to present chapter two.**

…

I originally had doubts about my ability to abstain from Holmes, but as the days went by I found that self-righteousness was a decent replacement for sins of the flesh. However, that's not to say it was easy. I was often tempted to end the whole thing and give in to the near constant pressure. Holmes – who continued his regular intake of cocaine – threw himself at me, firmly believing that I would be the first to give in. However, I held fast, even in the face of agonizing temptation. He would sometimes sneak up behind me as I was reading or looking over patient records and gently press his lips to my ear.

"You've been at that a while, Watson." He would say, "Don't you think you ought to take a break?" Of course, my refusal only intensified his enthusiasm. "Come now, I'll draw us a bath." He would continue, allowing those long fingers to run themselves through my hair. I very nearly accepted his offer on several occasions but, quickly remembering that my self-restraint was in both of our best interests, decided on each occasion to decline. Holmes reacted as I had come to expect. By sulking.

Looking back, I realize just how devious he was being, perhaps without even meaning to. For Holmes, sulking meant sitting in the bay window for hours on end, smoking his pipe and refusing to eat. He knew I wouldn't be able to stand by while he wasted away. He began early, too, usually arriving at his post only moments after waking up on the settee. I sat beside him each day with our breakfast, pushing eggs and sausage around on my plate, hoping to convince him to eat something.

"Come now, Holmes," I'd say, "You must be at least a bit hungry." In response, Holmes would sigh wistfully or mention something about being too troubled or having some other pressing matter he had to attend to. One day, however, Holmes came up with a decidedly more puckish answer. As usual, I had brought to his side the breakfast tray.

"Will you have anything to eat today, Holmes?" I asked, not expecting any sort of positive response. To my surprise, my companion turned to me with a sort of evil glint in his eye.

"I'm afraid I've become rather weak these last days." He slid down the wall a bit before continuing, "I couldn't possibly." I groaned.

"I hope," said I, "that you don't expect me to feed you."

"Of course not, my dear Watson." Holmes answered, adding a plaintive sigh, "That would be entirely improper. Though I don't know how I shall be able to manage." I made a noise of indignation and left our rooms, hoping a walk would help to soothe my temper.

…

I'd found myself growing increasingly irritable ever since issuing Holmes's ultimatum. _It's his damned petulance!_ I thought to myself, _If he weren't so bloody stubborn I wouldn't have to be so cold._ I wandered the streets for around another hour, only putting myself deeper into my grey mood. I contemplated going back, but couldn't stand the tension, deciding instead to stop at a pub and have a drink. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in light, it having been quite a bit brighter outside than in the barroom. Making my way through the noisy, smoky hall to the counter, I was greeted by the grizzled face of a tall, heavily muscled man.

"What can I get you, sir?" He asked, his speech peppered by a thick cockney accent. I ordered a pint of ale and made my way to a nearby table, where I was soon joined by another man. He placed his own frothing mug down on the small circle of planks in front of us and smiled.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked.

"Not at all." I responded, moving my drink to make room for him. He looked to be in his late twenties, tall and quite handsome. He dressed well, wearing an embossed black waistcoat with a clearly visible silver watch chain. Most strikingly, however, was the simple fact that he seemed at all interested in my company. He introduced himself as Jim Hearst and we made small talk, mostly, as it turned out, about me.

"I must say, Doctor," he said after I had regaled him with stories of mine and Holmes's adventures for a while, "I find your tales utterly fascinating, but I think we ought to retire somewhere a bit quieter. Wouldn't you agree?" He winked at me and flashed me a brilliant smile. On a purely inward level, I don't think I wanted to go with him, but ever since giving Holmes the cold shoulder I hadn't been thinking straight. So, after pondering his proposition for a while, I answered.

"Where did you have in mind?"

…

I felt a growing sense of dread as Jim led me up the narrow staircase to his flat. I didn't want to be there, I knew I didn't, but at the same time I couldn't help myself. I was drawn through the door and sat down on the divan. My stomach knotted as Jim sat down beside me, inching ever closer as the seconds ticked by. I felt his hand reached for mine and jerked away. He looked at me sideways for a moment.

"Everything all right, Doctor?" He asked. I shook my head.

"No, I'm afraid it's not." I stammered, making my way hastily toward the door. "I fear I've something to attend to." I staggered backwards out the door and sped down the stairs, only truly feeling at ease when I was back on my way home. _What on Earth possessed me to do a thing like that?_ I wondered, _Am I really so depraved that I would resort to a liaison with a total stranger?_ It was then that I decided to strengthen my resolve. I would not allow for such distraction to occur. I was on a mission and I promised myself I would be in it till it was accomplished.


	3. Declarations or A Change in Motivation

**My deepest and most humble apologies for the delay. I was both bedeviled and beset by those cruel twin demons: procrastination and lack of inspiration. I do hope you all find it in your hearts to forgive me.**

…

I limped up the stairs at Baker Street, hot streaks of pain shooting through my leg brought on by a combination of the day's damp weather and my earlier exertion from escaping my regrettable near entanglement at the pub. As I stood on the landing, leaning on the wall to rest my sore limb, I heard the muted sound of music. A slow, sad violin melody penetrating my conscience and forcing upon me more guilt than I felt necessary. Exhaling heavily, I strode through the door. Not surprisingly, Holmes was still faithfully posted at the window. He was still in his dressing gown despite the hour and stared quite blankly into the street, the Stradivarius perched gently on his shoulder. He seemed to hear me enter as he stopped playing abruptly and turned round to face me.

"Afternoon, Watson." He said, placing the Strad at his side and shooting me a forlorn look, "Enjoy your outing, did you?" I felt my face flush and my throat grow dry. I attempted to answer, but my words came out as stammers and squeaks. Finally I trailed off with some balderdash about the falling price of Herefordshire Russets. Holmes's face suddenly grew serious. He approached me and placed a cold hand on my brow.

"What is it that you're doing?" I wondered aloud.

"You're not feverish, are you?"

"No."

"Are you quite certain? You are rather warm and I fear you may be suffering delusions." He smiled at this, seemingly quite pleased at having made a joke at my expense. I laughed despite myself.

"I should have thought that you of all people would be able to come up with something cleverer than that."

"What can I say, my dear Watson?" He said, turning away aloofly, "I've been at a loss for cognitive stimulation as of late." Sitting back down at the window, Holmes gathered up the Strad, continuing his song on the very note upon which he had left off. I, not being in the mood for such melancholy, contemplated retreating to my study, but soon decided against it, having had enough of my own cowardice for one day. I sat in my preferred chair and cracked open a novel. I scanned several pages, finding it impossible to read with so many distractions. Holmes hit a sour note on the Strad, releasing a cacophony that sent a shiver down my spine. After around ten minutes I could stand the tension no longer. I stood and cleared my throat loudly. Holmes's head lolled and he stared at me in a sort of strange, upside-down way.

"What is it, my dear?" He rasped, his throat obstructed slightly by the peculiar position of his head.

"Get dressed." I said.

"What?"

"You heard me, Holmes." I repeated, "I will not stand for your sulking any longer. As a doctor it is my professional opinion that you require fresh air."

"Is it only that?" Holmes asked, rising from his seat, arms akimbo.

"Of course not. You know I speak also as your friend."

"Ah," said Holmes, the shadow of a smirk playing about his features, "But it isn't only _that_ either, now is it?" He advanced upon me, one sylphlike arm finding its way around the back of my neck, slender fingers running lithely through my hair. The sensible side of me, vehemently ignoring my more coarse desires, gathered Holmes's hands and placed them at his sides.

"Holmes," said I, attempting to keep the longing out of my voice, "I think you ought to get dressed." He gave me a brief look of disgruntlement before returning to his normal aloofness.

"I shall need a bath." He said, "Perhaps we ought to postpone this excursion until supper?" I nodded. Holmes turned without a word and made his way toward the bathroom, discarding his dressing gown as he went, revealing tantalizing glimpses of porcelain skin before slipping behind the door and out of sight. I smiled despite myself, glad to see my friend wasn't too upset to be insufferable. Picking up Holmes's newspaper from the window ledge, I sat down to wait.

…

As I had thought, getting Holmes out of the house did little for his mood.

"Is there any reason behind this aimless wandering, Watson?" asked Holmes as we strolled through the streets.

"You've been indoors for too long, I told you." Holmes sighed.

"I suppose you are right, as you tend to be in matters of my health."

"That nearly sounded complimentary." said I, "Surely you couldn't have intended it as such." I swore I could see a smile on Holmes's face, brief as its appearance was. I assigned his inability to hide his emotions at that time to the emotional instability we were both experiencing. On the one hand, I had been enamoured of my friend for as long as I had known him, though I had always assumed that my feelings would continue to be kept within my own head and heart. On the other hand, it appeared that Holmes was having much the same experience as I, likely adding to his general level of discontent with the world around him. I watched him now, his eyes unfocused, staring down the avenue. I wanted to be in his mind more than anything, but had no hope of being allowed that privilege, at least not yet.

"You must be hungry." I remarked, "When was the last time you had anything to eat?" Holmes grunted in reply.

"I have given it no thought whatsoever." Said he.

"So you're hungry, then?" I chuckled, "There's a pub around the corner. Shall we pop in?" Holmes nodded after a moment and I clapped him jovially on the shoulder. "That's the spirit." I cried, taking my friend by the arm and leading us out of the cold street.

…

The pub was well lit, though relatively full, with patrons occupying most other adjacent tables. We ordered food and drink which was delivered promptly by a ruddy-cheeked young woman in a long, calico skirt and white apron.

"Here you are, gents." She said, shooting me a wink and flipping a lock of curly blonde tresses out of her face. Holmes cleared his throat loudly from across the table. I sighed, giving my companion a stern look.

"Honestly, Holmes." I said, "Must you ruin my evening simply because you're determined to stay in this foul mood?"

"It's your own fault." He muttered. I smiled inwardly, somewhat glad to hear that he had indeed been thinking of me.

"Oh really?" Said I, "How, precisely, is this _my_ fault?" I could feel my smile begin to play across my cheeks. Holmes snorted indignantly but said nothing. Perhaps I should have left it at that, but my smugness forced me to continue to taunt my companion. "Come now, Holmes. I doubt I've ever seen you in such a dark mood for so long. Confide in me, why don't you?" Holmes turned away, seeming to be pondering something important. Suddenly, his face turned and he spoke.

"I love you." He said, matter-of-factly, leaving me dumbfounded.

"You what?" I whispered sharply, the colour draining from my cheeks. Now it was Holmes's turn to be smug. He leered across the table at me.

"Really, Watson. Even you possess the perceptive prowess required to notice such a blatant fact."

"Well," I stammered, "well I suppose I…Honestly, Holmes, do you really think this is the time or place to be discussing matters such as this?"

"Come now, Watson, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Holmes was raising his voice. I felt as though a hundred thousand eyes were upon me and I cowered in my seat. Holmes continued on his rant for some time before I lost patience with him.

"Enough!" I cried, standing and slamming a hand down on the table. I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" I growled and marched out into the street, steered by rage and hurt far from Holmes.

…

After a long and angry walk, I found myself returning home. I cursed my cowardice for the umpteenth time as I sat down on the cold steps. I placed my head in my hands and removed my hat, putting it down beside me. After regaining my composure for a moment, I reached for it and surprised to find it missing. I looked to where I had placed it and found instead a pair of legs attached, as I discovered, to Sherlock Holmes. I looked up to see my hat on his head.

"May I have that back, please?" I asked, coldly. Holmes removed my derby and began to twirl it in his fingers.

"You have quite a flair for the dramatic, Watson." He said, "I wouldn't have expected such an exit from you."

"One can become unpredictable when one's temper is flared." I replied, still refusing to look at my companion. He sat down beside me, replacing the hat on my head and fixing me with a deadpan stare.

"I assure you, I meant no offence by my comments earlier."

"Then I suppose you meant nothing at all by them. Am I right?" Holmes sighed and looked downward. Interpreting his silence as an affirmative reply to my question, I stood and began to enter the house. Holmes rose abruptly and grabbed my arm. His grip was firm and there was a sense of urgency about his demeanor.

"What in God's name are you doing?" I demanded. Holmes looked me right in the eye, his brow furrowed.

"I want you to know, Watson, that I meant each and every word of what I said." I could feel my expression softening, I steeled myself before replying.

"Well, if that's the case you've a strange way of showing your feelings. Really, did you have to be so cavalier with such a…tender issue? Not to mention the fact that you could have gotten us into quite the predicament making such declarations in public."

"I know—" Holmes began.

"What were you thinking?" I interjected loudly. Holmes glared at me for a moment, unhappy to have been interrupted.

"I wasn't thinking." He sighed, "I am reluctant to admit, but I was overtaken by emotion." The thought of the great Sherlock Holmes becoming emotional over me lifted my spirits somewhat. I smiled and pulled him in close to me. We stayed that way for a long time, standing on the steps of our home, not a word spoken between us. Finally we separated, neither one of us particularly wanting to break the silence. Holmes spoke first.

"This isn't about my habits anymore, is it?" He asked, a smile creeping across his face. I shook my head.

"No," I responded, "I think this conflict evolved beyond that a long time ago." I took my companion by the arm, "Come now, let's go inside."

With a kiss, he agreed.

…

**So there it is! I'm absolutely tickled that so many of you liked it. Stay tuned for the epilogue and keep an eye out for more stories!**


	4. Epilogue: Pillow Talk

We lay entangled in my bed. Holmes's head rested wearily on my chest, one index finger lazily drawing circles on my skin.

"I'm so glad," said he, "that we managed to work out our differences." I laughed, grasping the cigarette from where it sat, smoldering in the ashtray on my nightstand and placing it between my lips.

"I must say I agree." I replied, "I do prefer it when we get along. I'll admit I grew rather tired of this dispute long ago." Holmes exhaled quickly, stifling a snort, a bark of laughter. I craned to look at my companion, wearing a mask of perplexity. "Something funny, old boy?" I wondered. Holmes could contain himself no longer. He cackled, sitting up and covering his mouth with his hand, his shoulders convulsing with glee.

"Terribly sorry." He said, lighting a cigarette of his own and taking a long drag to calm himself.

"Really," said I, "what came to mind that could elicit such a violent reaction from you?" Holmes cleared his throat loudly.

"It really is of no consequence, my dear." Said he, "Do forget it."

"No, I want to hear this." I insisted. "I like a joke as much as the next person." Holmes shook his head, but soon relented.

"You mentioned having grown weary of our conflict, did you not?"

"Yes, but I still don't quite see –"

"I was merely pondering the fact that I too had become rather fatigued and gone to seek a solution to my predicament."

"And?" I asked, beginning to hope Holmes would get to the point.

"I was amused by the fact that we had been drawn to equally desperate measures in coming up with a resolution to said predicament. Furthermore, I found myself additionally tickled by the fact that until now you've been in the dark in terms of the nature of these measures. On my part, that is." I furrowed my brow.

"Holmes, what the devil are you talking about?"

"It seems you aren't fully aware of the true nature of your rendezvous earlier with a Mr. Jim Hearst." My eyes widened.

"You knew?" I gaped, dumbfounded. Holmes began to chuckle again.

"Think, my dear." I did, picturing Jim's face. His mahogany hair and tawny complexion were alien enough, but his eyes. His eyes had been a most piercing grey and his nose did have a distinctly aquiline quality about it. It was then that the truth dawned on me.

"You're Jim Hearst?" I asked. Holmes smirked and nodded.

"The very same." Said he. I threw back my head and roared with laughter.

"Wait a moment." Said I, "That means you lost!" Holmes suddenly became very aloof.

"I did no such thing."

"You did!" I insisted, "You were the first to give in." Holmes vehemently denied my claim. "But you seduced me." I maintained. Holmes shook his head.

"Ah, but you accepted." He contended, "Is it not possible that I was merely testing you?"

"I suppose it is possible. However, it isn't the case, is it?" Holmes muttered something under his breath and turned away from me. I sighed and cupped his cheek. "Shall we just agree to disagree?" I ventured, placing a small kiss upon his forehead.

"I've never been one for compromise." Holmes replied, his lips brushing against mine.

"There's a first time for everything."

…

**THE END!**


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